The Escape
by LadySimona
Summary: Desi escapes the monotonous rhythmn of her life in an unexpected taxi ride.


The Escape

I don't think I'll ever forget the day I met him. Katherine had left me a message and was horribly upset and absolutely _needed_ to talk to me , crying and sobbing all over the place, like a helpless infant, at least that's the impression I got from my end. She didn't specify, though, what the hell had happened.

When I got the message, I put down my sketches and left the dim crimson and blue-walled studio to go outside and call her. Conveniently, I left my cynicism back in the studio as well. The truth was, Katherine was a melodramatic, back-stabbing bitch, but she didn't realize that, and for some reason, I chose to keep my austere but completely accurate opinions to myself, to humor her perhaps, after all, she was my boss. The more important thing though, was that I _did_ leave my dejection, my overwhelming bout of depressing thoughts I'd been having lately, and just that sort of careful presence that continually torments me back in the studio, when I walked outside to make the phone call, that is, perhaps, why I was able to fall in love. Not with Katherine of course.

As I was dialing those heinous numbers into my cell phone, it coincidentally rang, sounding the Opera from La Traviata loud into the afternoon bustle on the crowded city streets. Katherine.

I pressed the green button with a cringe. "Hello?"

"You won't believed what has happened," the high pitched voice similar to a dying pigeon sounded in my ear.

"What is the matter Kat?" I asked, conjuring up the most sympathetic tone I could.

"You just won't believe it Desi."

"What?"

"Look, I'm just passing the Starbucks on 23rd street, meet me there in five minutes, _please_."

"But, 23rd street is at least twenty blocks from here." But she had already hung up. I sighed loudly, hoping, on some illusory whim, that the busy-looking brunette, clad in a fitted navy pant suit, that was already walking past me, might stop, just for a minute, and ask me if I was okay, or if, perhaps, I was having trouble escaping the monotonous rhythm in my life. Or maybe, since I was already engulfed in some fictitious world where my unsuspecting victims could understand my low muttering or sighs, Joe would spontaneously stop screwing his busty, blond assistant in the mail room of his office when everyone was on lunch break, and pick up the damn phone and give his wife a call. And he thinks I don't know.

I pushed those bitter, relentless thoughts out of my head, as I saw a taxi cab coming up the street, slowly making it's way through the mid-day traffic. I needed to be fresh and friendly for whatever had gone horribly wrong in Katherine's life. The last time she called me for one of these crisis-over-coffee things, she had informed me that her husband had accidentally left the cab of their yacht unlocked, and someone had stolen their 1500 martini glass set.

The dusty yellow car pulled up to the curb when I waved, which almost surprised me. I opened the sticky door, and settled my self down on the worn cloth back seat, noticing a rip on the seat adjacent to me, where a white puff was starting to show. It smelled rather damp in the cab, but not vile, just like some office executives had come into the cab from a downpour outside, their mascara and perfume sliding around on their skin, hair damp, and uncomfortable.

"Where to Miss?" A low, rugged voice spoke.

"Huh?" I had once again slipped out of reality, a picture of those potent executives being painted in my mind. "Oh, uh, 23rd street, the Starbucks on 23rd street… sorry."

" s'alright." I could tell he was looking back at me through the rear view mirror. I didn't look up. I watched out the windows, the boutiques and office buildings seemed to form an intricate but reoccurring pattern. But, they didn't hold my interest for long, and I began to wonder if the cab driver was going to make any small talk with me. I adjusted myself in the seat, and then looked up to the review mirror, and caught him staring back at me. He immediately looked away.

"I," I started to talk before thinking of what I would actually say. The silence in the cab was unusually awkward for two strangers who weren't even expected to talk. But he interrupted my thoughts.

"You do them designs, at Rutherfords'?" He said without looking in the mirror. I could tell he had a very slight Irish accent. I still hadn't gotten a good look at him. All I could see was the back of his head, his hair dark and wavy, but not unclean and discomforting.

"Oh, yes. I work there," I said quietly. I almost felt embarrassed when he looked back in the mirror. I stared at his face for a moment. His eyes were a blueish-grey, light, but solemn looking. I immediately was intimidated, but I couldn't help continuing to study his other features. He didn't look very much older than me, his skin smooth and tan. His nose was rough and ugly, and his lips were tight. I didn't find him greatly attractive, but he wasn't terribly plain either.

"I said do you do them designs?" The question's imperious tone startled me.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I sketch the logos." I couldn't stop staring into the rearview mirror, back at him. His lips were still tight, his face solid and serious. He looked away.

"Mmhmm, I thought so."

"How could you tell?" I was slightly disturbed by his tone.

"Well you'd be standing right in front of there, with that sketch book in your arms, and lookin' quite thoughtful, quite like you were wishing you were somewhere else." He said quietly, looking back through the rear view mirror, letting a timid smile escape his lips. It jolted me.

"Oh, I.. guess so" I said nodding, as I peered down at my worn sneakers.

"I like your other work better, though." I felt something churn fast and sharp inside of me. I didn't know whether to feel threatened, disturbed, or intrigued.

"What.. are you talking about."

"Your sketches, down in the Mosby Art Center," he said knowingly.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Sorry miss. I just recognized the similarities in your shadowing and texture." He noticed my increasing uneasiness. "You can't get much from those logos you do, but one time I was in Mosby's, and I was looking at your drawing. The alley one, with the girl. Then when I was on my break, I was reading the newspaper and saw that add for Rutherfords and the sketching was the same." I couldn't believe this. That this taxi cab driver, someone I had never met before in my life, knew my work so well. I was frightened. I had submitted those sketches to Mosby's under the name Cameron; I didn't want Joe to ever know.

"Wow. I can't believe—," I started.

"I like them."

"Well.. thanks. I never thought someone would recognize them as mine." I said looking into the mirror. He was watching me quite intently now, his eyes softer, his mouth relaxed. I felt as if this man knew more about me than Joe ever would, and it made me feel so exposed, like I had suddenly decided to rip all of my clothes off and go run down Fenwell Avenue completely naked. It was the most exciting feeling I had felt in a long time.

"I studied art in college, actually sold a couple pieces a few years ago." He said as we came to a stoplight. He turned around in his seat to look at me, the bright sunlight of mid-day shining behind his head. Our eyes met, for the first time, directly, and I almost let out a gasp. He had this certainty about him, this overpowering knowledge about me that only one can find in someone's art, never through words. Although I felt so completely open to him, he felt distant from me. Like someone had locked him and forgotten where the key was. His glare was mysterious, tempting and luring me to search within him, even if he didn't want me to. And then he nodded, as if he was confirming something. I had no idea what. As he turned back around, and started driving again, I immediately felt a wave of doubt wash over me, like a frightened sand crab, trying to scuttle under the thick sand before I was washed away. _What if this is all in my head? Just another one of my unrealistic notions? _I thought to myself, trying to rub the charcoal off my hands.

As we came to a stop in front of the Starbucks, I had forgotten how to speak. How could this be happening? My body seemed to be implanted in the seat of the murky cab, I couldn't move, I didn't want to. I needed to stay with this man. I needed to know more.

"Miss?" I didn't even hear him. He repeated with a lace of uncertainty, "Uh… Cameron?" I looked up into the rearview. He was staring back at me, his eyes burning into mine. My doubts disappeared. I just couldn't bring myself to say anything sensible, so I started to get out of the cab.

"Here, thanks for the ride uh…" I said searching for his name somewhere, as I handed him the fare.

"Emmett."

"Bye Emmett." I was more aware of my body than I had ever been before.

"Bye Cameron," he said, his rough fingers glazed mine as he took the money, sending chills ricocheting down my spine.

"You can call me Desi," I said.

"I like Cameron better."


End file.
